


Charcoal

by Captainforacause



Category: Avengers, Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Captain America, Stucky - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Oral Fixation, Roleplay, oral kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captainforacause/pseuds/Captainforacause
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's always enjoyed nursing on various objects, even as a young boy, but has he found a more entertaining reason for his strange behaviour? </p><p>[Set after CATWS, Bucky/Steve, they both have an oral fixation (The need or necessity to have something in one's mouth.) M/M, don't like, don't read! Feel free to leave a comment or ask me questions on tumblr~]</p><p>This fic is built on an rp and two different styles are in play!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I'm back and this is one of my current ongoing rp's on Tumblr! Every second chapter is mine and the rest belong to winterxghost (winterxghost.tumblr.com) who is a complete sweetheart and a fantastic writer. 
> 
> So this first chapter is Winter's, in the POV of Bucky (this fic swaps POV every chapter).

At first it had been merely a sniper’s curiosity at peeking over the back of the couch at a glance as he passed through to the joining kitchen in search of a glass of water.

He’d seen the couch-side floor lamp illuminated and a pair of sock-laden feet poking out the other side of the cream colored three-seater. A brunet eyebrow perching upwards on his forehead, his circuit to the kitchen orbited closer towards the couch to glance downwards at Steven.

Like he said, it had merely been a sniper’s curiosity.

The top of a blond head came into his quick surveying view, next a relaxed face, slumbering in a light doze no doubt, head tilted against his shoulder facing towards the rest of the living room. James paused to glance up lightning quick for the tell-tale evidence of a television left droning onward on a home shopping channel, but there was none to be had. The electronic screen remained black and silent like a raven in the arrow slit of a castle’s keep. Nothing was out of place in the room aside from the clutter now on the glass and wrought-iron coffee table.

Not just the usual magazine he didn’t think Steve actually subscribed to—more like merely received per some premium or bonus gimmick from a company trying to get him to actually subscribe. There was an empty white mug sitting at the corner of the table—James cringed at the lack of a coaster underneath the mug—along with an empty plate, fork and knife criss-crossed over the smear of Alfredo sauce from the blond’s apparent dinner that evening. The crumpled paper napkin sitting alongside even that. Joining the clutter on the table were various art supplies and a few medium-width books—sketchbooks James soon realized upon a closer squint—one of them flipped open to a particularly detailed vista of the train and mountain that James could recognize as the one he fell from. He wondered at Steve’s state of mind and emotions that he might turn to such an unhappy drawing.

He padded on feet as silent as a cat’s around to the foot of the couch…or rather the end of the couch where Steve’s feet were propped on the arm rest—and peered at the length of him illuminated gently by the "soft-white" of the lamp above him. His face was a neutral expression of both curiosity and scrutiny, as if checking a post on patrol of a border or the high walls of his castle. This…domestic…wooden and modern castle..filled with plastics, electricity, metal and warmth…

The slightest tightening of muscle in his face made the barest smile curl at the corner of his mouth. He was pleased. Everything was well. He could tolerate the disorder on the coffee table, it was part of the fluster that was his Steve. Yes…. his Steve…

He felt a warm sensation curl like a possessive tiger deep in his belly at that notion. He might be half-cocked to crazy and out of his own mind the other half of the time, but he knew who Steve was. Knew he had to protect him. Knew he was special and someone to protect at all times with everything he had. He’d fight tooth and nail and metal arm and rage and spit and language if he had to. He’d changed his own programming because of this man’s kind words, his insistence to make him remember. Steve had gambled and won. James didn’t ever intend to let himself make Steve lose that bet. He’d try everything he could to remember who he was and be the person Steve trusted him with his life to be.

He padded a little closer and stopped abruptly in his tracks. Something was wrong. Something was more different than usual. He even sniffed the air, a cursory and instinctual thing, smelled nothing out of the ordinary, maybe the fragrance of alfredo left on the dinner plate, now to his left on the coffee table, and the woody smell of colored pencil shavings.His brunet brows furrowed momentarily in concentration and confusion. So what was off? He twisted around to view the room again as a precaution. He wasn’t being watched. He’d made sure of that so what…was…

His eyes trailing down Steve’s snoozing form alighted on the drawing pad resting over the blond man’s belly, left hand laying atop it as if to keep anyone from stealing it in his sleep. He noticed the tease of golden skin where Steve’s shirt rode up near one hip and his own tongue came out to wet his lips. That’s when he noticed it. Steve’s right hand, his dominant hand in fact, draping over the edge of the couch cushion and hovering precariously close to the carpeting. One stump of charcoal pinned between his middle and fore fingers like the butt of a cigarette after a heavy smoking session. The supporting thumb returned to its normal position this leaving the charcoal to hang precariously close to a carpet it could smudge.

James padded a little closer now, crouched so he could rest on all fours and crawled—more like slinked—his way to close the distance. Much like a panther alighting on its curiosity finally he gently lifted the hand in one of his, his other swiping out quickly to catch the falling charcoal when it slipped free. He set the black stick on the coffee table among its brothers while his right hand rotated Steve’s hand upwards so it was vertical, palm facing the sniper’s questing gaze.

Goodness there was a mess. His calculating eyes took in the black smudges on Steve’s nimble fingers, somehow still artistically boned and calloused after all their years of combined war and battle. He could almost see the thin hand it had once been before Steve became his own asset to the American government, James his own to the HYDRA and Russian scientists. He didn’t see anything to wipe the man’s hands clean with, except maybe his shirt, but that wouldn’t do. He did the only thing next that he could think of and he rotated Steve’s hand again so it was palm up towards the ceiling.

Holding it still he leaned forward a little and slowly wrapped his lips around one charcoal smudged digit, his tongue curling around it snugly, rubbing itself along the callouses, muscle, bone and everything else that made up his index digit, wetting its surface further. His mouth then able to sink down farther on the man’s finger as he slumbered on. Reaching the base of Steve’s finger he sucked hard on it, drawing himself back up its length, pulling away with the taste and coating of charcoal on his tongue, filling his senses like the blackened ash of forests. He could taste the man’s artistry on his tongue as he repeated the same ministrations to his middle finger.

Sucking off the taint of charcoal, yet he was pulling from the man his purity, symbolically of course. The goodness in Steve was like the warmth of the sun constantly spilling out to saturate any that stood near him. James loved to soak and bask in its loving glow like a lizard on the rocks. Yearning for the purifying touch of his lover, to cleanse him from his monstrous past as a baby-killer, a life-ruiner, a misery-bringer, a widower. He adored Steve, whether he admitted it vocally or not, and he would do anything for him to make sure he never had to have a downcast moment in his life again. Licking off the talent of the man’s fingers, James hummed a soft song he surmised he’d heard on the radio somewhere, no…couldn’t be that recent.. he remembered a radio, but it was crackly and wooden, with a dial.. a smokey bar…no….further back… a threadbare apartment, in a threadbare part of town during a threadbare moment of anguish in the country.

His mouth released Steven’s third finger with a soft wet sucking noise before his lips picked up the words of the song to accompany the tune his vocals hummed. “You are my sunshine…my only sunshine…..” his nose pressed against the back of Steve’s hand gently, affectionately, “You make me happy….when skies are grey…” his nose buried itself between his middle and ring finger so he could pause to kiss his knuckles. “You’ll never know dear…how much I love you…” A gentle lick of the backside of Steve’s pinkie—the digit cleaner than its accompanying fingers—“Please don’t take…my sunshine away…”  
A wistful smile widened the tug of his lips at their corners and he nuzzled Steve’s hand before falling silent once more, his singing itself had barely been above the whisper of air in the room.

Once more his mouth secured, warm and tight around Steve’s middle finger and his sucking grew more rhythmic, his tongue massaging its length, even smoothing over the little callous ‘artist’s bump’ on the top corner of his knuckle where a pencil normally rested. His eyes had slipped closed as he enjoyed his mate’s nearness, slumbering or not, and he comfortably nursed on the now-clean digit, even with the lingering taste of charcoal in his mouth.


	2. Charcoal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's always enjoyed nursing on various objects, even as a young boy, but has he found a more entertaining reason for his strange behaviour?
> 
> [Set after CATWS, Bucky/Steve, they both have an oral fixation (The need or necessity to have something in one's mouth.) M/M, don't like, don't read! Feel free to leave a comment or ask me questions on tumblr~]
> 
> This fic is built on an rp and two different styles are in play!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is chapter two (Wow we're already this far? Haha) written by Moi~ it's not as long and neither with the other chapters be because we're trying not to clutter tumblr :3. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy, and yes, there is mild adult material in this one~

It always seemed a strain to keep himself entertained with Bucky’s absence no matter how long he was gone for, whether it be a few days, or a couple of minutes, Steven found himself longing for the brunet’s attention like a broken record keening to be heard. Perhaps it was the sheer amount of time he suffered without the man that made the blond so damn overprotective of him? Or even the way HYDRA mutilated James - not to say the prosthetic was ugly, heck, it was an artwork of engineering - but the Captain couldn’t stand to think what else they’d put the poor soldier through, it was sickening to say the least.

But here he was, once again, pencil in hand and only the leftover scent of cold Alfredo sauce, and scorched charcoal to keep him company, even the blare of late night television had brought Steven nothing but hassle and in the end, he pulled the plug on that too. One excellent thing about the serum was it’s capacity to enhance his senses, what used to be the dull lamplight he knew from childhood was now bright as day, and the street lights even more so - it was like living in a nightclub, only, quieter, and less crowded. Even the feel of charcoal between his fingers was enhanced ten-fold, leaving the soldier to ponder silently as he sketched over the slightly coarse surface and scratch of the darkened stick, to take in every minuscule vibration that tickled his fingertips and scored at the paper beneath.

He was half glad he changed from pencil to charcoal throughout the evening, leaving behind the depressing and all-too-familiar landscape the lead had carved into his favourite sketchbook, in favor of the harsh lines and deep shadows he could create to replicate the plating of James’ arm. Let alone the chocolate waves he could build atop his sketch’s head - though nothing could truly capture the essence of James’ beauty like the human eye could.

At some point, the soldier had drifted off into a dream-filled slumber, chasing ideas and toying with thoughts like he hadn’t a care in the world, a delicate smile teasing at his lips and a twitch tapping his fingers on is left hand.

Though something was off, and it suddenly all felt a little too real, perhaps it was the murmured song, uttered delicately under one’s breathe, or perhaps even the way his brain had drawn a blank, leaving the Captain to slumber in stilted darkness. But the voice was too close and he couldn’t help but stammer out a breathe as touch came into play, turning the man’s dreams down another alley entirely, and by Christ was it sensual, tugging halted groans to catch in his throat and trickle pleasure-filled spasms down his spine. Whatever was going on, was damn near euphoric, and for now, James’ absence had all but dissipated from his mind.

A hearty groan passed the blond’s lips as he roused from his slumber, allowing the art-book to fall disgracefully to the floor in favor of whimpering for more, prying, brilliant, blue, eyes, to trail up to meet an all too wonderful sight as his stomach knotted in pleasure with another soft suckle to his fingers. James was nursing, on his hand, and oh me oh my was it hot….

"B-Bucky?!”


	3. Charcoal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's always enjoyed nursing on various objects, even as a young boy, but has he found a more entertaining reason for his strange behaviour?
> 
> [Set after CATWS, Bucky/Steve, they both have an oral fixation (The need or necessity to have something in one's mouth.) M/M, don't like, don't read! Feel free to leave a comment or ask me questions on tumblr~]
> 
> This fic is built on an rp and two different styles are in play!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's POV again, as I said, every second chapter.

Slipping into a bit of a trance with his gentle suckling of the man’s longest digit, James wanted to purr out his contentment but for now settled for pleased silence. His eyes remaining shut, the soft breath of life whispering throughout the house’s open space, his senses came to life and became more fine-tuned now that his eyes were shut.

The scent of Steve so close and warm, the scent of his artistry freshly applied to the sketchpad, the Alfredo sauce on the plate, and the age of the couch the man slumbered away on. The darkness shuttered across his eyes was a comfort, a soothing relaxation that helped to quiet his mind into a meditative trance. The feel of the man’s skin under his own fingers, delicate to hold his as he didn’t want to awaken him prematurely with jostling. The skin warm yet rough in all the proper places one might expect from a fighter like Steve. Always a scrappy little guy on the inside, even with the hard planes of muscle and weight on the outside to protect him. Now the man just had more bang to his boom. 

The feeling as well of Steve’s digit taking up space inside his mouth was forefront on James’ mind. He’d sucked his own thumb well until he was about five or six, his oral fixation never really died after he stopped the practice due to his mother’s insistence and jeering from the other boys in the neighborhood who somehow found out the behavior. It was also a huge comfort thing to him, not that he’d tell anyone that, but it calmed him to be able to nurse at something and something he hadn’t done since he was a child, such as he was doing now to Steve’s middle finger.

The man’s finger, turned palm upwards, was curved nicely to fit inside James’ mouth. The pad of the finger’s fore-knuckle sitting perfectly in the upwards sweep of the roof of James’ mouth, almost like a hook underneath his top row of teeth. The patriot’s evenly trimmed fingernail still scraped along Bucky’s tongue which curled around and under the finger, undulating rhythmically, flexing and contorting to mold around it. The sharp scratch of pain - fingernail to soft tongue surface - only making Bucky figure out the best way to seal his tongue around the man’s finger without damaging it, inducing a lot of wriggling of the wet muscle.

James had noticed, early on in fact while still a child, that things he’d sucked on, had a coating therein of his saliva, and once that dried away the remaining object or finger or what have you, was left with a scent James found as addictive as a drug. His personal scent in a way. And he personally felt it was the sweetest most perfect scent he could find and would inhale the smell when he found it until his nose stung from over-use. He’d no doubt if Steve didn’t wash his hand afterwards it would attract James to it like a bloodhound to a fox. As it was however, he wasn’t messy about it when he sucked on things, he did not drool, or slobber all over it, merely left it with a fine film of his moisture as he kept most of it in check with his tongue’s active ministrations. 

Keeping his eyes closed, enhancing the rest of his senses when it did, he was able to almost meditate with the soothing trance of his nursing. The sound of the air moving with life in the open space of the house, the sound of Steve’s steady breathing only stuttering intermittently from the effects of his body’s reactions. 

The sounds of him fidgeting and shifting from the quivering and shivers dancing down his spine, and the soft yearning noises bubbling to the surface. An impish smile curled briefly on Bucky’s lips at the corners as he suckled away at the super soldier’s middle finger.

The hearty moan pulled forth and James still kept his eyes closed, nursing a little more lively. At the outburst of his name from Steve’s lips his eyes slowly slid open, grey-blues gluing to Steve’s own sky-blues, mischief alighting in their depths. Dilating as they did with his growing amused arousal - an instinctive response to that tone lacing Steve’s voice - and he slowly, ever so slowly drew up off the man’s finger. 

Lips staying sealed around it as his tongue swiped it ‘clean’, pausing at the fore-knuckle to suckle and wrap his tongue around it. Releasing it with a wet pop he paused, then moved to Steve’s ring finger next. Steve’s middle finger’s fore-knuckle pad beginning to wrinkle delicately from exposure to moisture like it might in a bathtub after too long.

Lips wrapping around the man’s ring finger and descending down the digit as equally careful as he had the middle, slowly, methodically with his tongue coiling, curling and rolling against it sensually as he sucked it clean in rhythmic little motions. His eyes stayed glued to Steve’s as he did this, curious to see what he would do. How he’d react. Would he break? Would he surge?

Afterall, it had merely been a sniper’s curiosity~ 

James studied the aroused flush painting Steve’s cheekbones, almost reaching his ears too he noted with an endearing little curl to his mouth. His own body thrumming back to life from the pace it slowed down to as he indulged his senses, afire with everything Steve was as the artist molded like clay into the Nation’s darling. All his, just as he was all Steve’s.


End file.
